Stormwielder (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

“Why have we stopped?” Eric shouted back.

Alastair answered with a humour in his voice he had not heard for days. “We’ve reached the top. You’re just a few steps away.”

Eric’s cheeks grew warm. He walked up the last few steps and scowled at two men. Then, ignoring them, he walked out onto the battlements. The path along the top of the wall was neatly bricked and slick with rain. The ramparts stood up past his waist on either side of them, providing scant shelter from the wind.

Caelin moved past, leading the way along the parapet. Eric followed, looking back out over the ramparts. To the west, the city spread out beneath them, fires burning to ward off the chill of the coming night. He found himself longing the warm embrace of the inns fireplace. Gritting his teeth, he looked to the east where the three peaks of Chole towered over them. The slope of the nearest volcano stretched right to the base of the wall.

Lightning flashed above, a long way up. Thunder rung out and the wind howled. The air smelt of rain and wood smoke. The storm had continued nonstop for three days now. Eric could feel its energies whipping about him, charging the atmosphere with its power. It taunted him, daring him to reach out with his magic. He resisted. Turning his thoughts to the missing Enala, he followed Caelin’s broad back through the hissing rain.

The night closed around them; until it seemed they were the only ones left in the world. Nevertheless, someone else was up here. A guard who claimed to have seen a young girl leaving the city. Caelin had gotten that much from him, but he was sure there was more to his story.

A figure loomed through the gloom. He wore a heavy trench coat pulled tight around him and his back was hunched against the rain. Neither looked to be doing him much good. The rain blew almost horizontal in the strong winds atop the wall.

A spark of lightning lit the mountainside behind him. Eric squinted and thought he saw movement on the slopes. Before he could make anything out, the rain closed in again.

Caelin moved towards the guard. Words passed between them, shouted over the storms rage. Caelin nodded and moved back. “He won’t talk,” he ran his hands through his soaking hair. “This is the man I spoke to though.”

Alastair scowled and elbowed past. As he approached the guard, he slipped one hand into his pocket. The guard flinched backwards, reaching for his sword. Alastair drew a small bag from his cloak and tossed it to him. The surprised guard fumbled the parcel and Eric heard the chink of coins from within.

The man’s eyes widened when he looked inside. “Thank you, sir. I remember now. There was a girl. She left by the north gate a few hours ago. Pretty little thing. I was on gate duty then. Shouldn’ta been complaining. Commander put me up here when he heard.”

Alastair nodded impatiently. “Yes, things can always get worse, can’t they? Now, the girl. What did she look like? Did she follow the road?”

“Afraid I can’t tell you much. Rains great an all, but makes keeping watch a right chore. Her hair was soaked and hooded, but it was blond I guess. Small face, small nose, small girl. Her cloak hid everything else. They kept north, as far as I could tell.”

“They?” Alastair interrupted.

“Yeah. She was with some guy. Didn’t get a good look at him either. He had a sword though. Can’t have been much older than her I’d say. Strange business, two young folk venturing out in this.”

“Yes, quite. Well, thank you, sir. I’d appreciate it even more if you told no one else about the girl.”

The man clutched his money to his chest and grinned. “Don’t think I need too, sir. A good day to you.”

Alastair led them a few steps down the wall. They huddled close to hear his whispers. “This girl may or may not be Enala; the rogues at the house said nothing about a boy. But it’s the only lead we have. Eric and I will go after them. Caelin, you find Balistor and head back to the inn. Bring the horses and catch up with us. Eric, are you listening?”

Eric was not. He stared into the distance, eyes searching the darkness. The movement had come again with the last flash of lightning. It was closer now and seemed to be moving faster. He sucked in a breath.
There’s nothing there. It’s not what you think. It can’t be.

Lightning tore across the sky. Its glow fell across the mountain slopes, revealing stark rock and stone. And mud, mud rushing down the slope towards them. A wall of earth snapped free from the mountain. As he watched, its dim rumble finally struck them.

“
Landslide!
” he screamed.

They all turned. The sky lit up with his voice and they all saw it. Tumbling earth, an entire mountainside rushing towards them. The wall shook beneath their feet.

“Run for your lives!” the guard sprinted past them.

“
Gods
”, Caelin cursed. “It’ll bury half the city.”

No, no, no! Not again!
Eric sank to his knees, hands tearing at his hair. He watched the destruction approach, all his hopes disintegrating. He felt no fear or anger, only resignation. A sick sense of inevitability gripped him. “It’s over,” he whispered.

Alastair stepped up to the ramparts. The wind ripped around him, trying to cast him to the rocks below. He stood against the storms fury, watching the landslide come with cool eyes. With slow determination, he raised his arms over his head.

“What are you doing?” Eric shouted above the roaring earth.

“What I must,” Alastair faced the mountain.

Eric’s head pounded. The rush as Alastair unleashed his power was like nothing he had felt before. Red burned across his vision, blinding him for a moment. The earth shook harder, knocking him from his feet. On hands and knees, he crawled to the ramparts and looked out on a nightmare.

The mudslide rushed on, but now the ground before the wall was rising into the air. Boulders and stones and soil and water hovered before them. The air shimmered with magic.

Alastair’s arms began to shake, the tendons on his neck strained to breaking point. His lips drew back in a manic grin, his teeth grinding as though he held the city on his shoulders. The tremors quickly spread to the rest of the old man’s body. Alastair dropped to one knee, arms still stretched out before him. His fingers bent to claws. Still more debris rose to join the conflagration before them. The landslide drew ever closer.

Eric closed his eyes, still on his knees. This task must be beyond even Alastair’s power. He could not imagine how Alastair could draw on such energy. Surely he had spent his strength by now, yet still the air burned with magic. The old Magicker would never give up. He would die first.

Alastair’s back bent, the pressure forcing him down. It could not be long now. The old man’s lips moved. His teeth glinted in the storms light. If Alastair spoke, Eric did not hear.

Then Alastair threw down his hands. Eric felt another surge of energy and suddenly there was a second landslide, racing uphill to meet the first.

Mud sprayed forty feet in the air as the two mammoths of earth met. A high pitch screech split the air. Rock exploded on rock as boulders clashed with the force of galloping horses. Eric and Caelin ducked for cover while rock rained down around them. The grumbling of moving earth echoed off the walls. Mud swirled on the plain before the wall and began to settle.

Alastair crumpled to the ramparts. Eric crawled to where he lay. The old man’s face was deathly pale. His eyes were closed and he did not respond when Eric shook him. He felt his wrist for a pulse and found the faintest beat. Cold sweat ran beaded Alastair’s pale skin.

“Is he alive?” Caelin whispered.

“Barely,” Eric responded.

Caelin shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He did it.”

Eric nodded, looking out at the mess below them. He couldn’t believe it either.

Elynbrigge opened his eyes. A cool breeze blew through the open window. Every breath was an effort now, each exhalation leaving him gasping. The blood flowed sluggishly through his veins and his chest ached with the pain of his labouring heart. With each beat, he drew closer to death.

Summoning his strength, he called out. “Michael! Michael I need you.”

It did not take long for the priest to appear. He frowned when he saw Elynbrigge and knelt beside him. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

Guilt bored a hole in Elynbrigge’s chest. What he was about to ask would change the doctor forever. He closed his eyes and thought of the sacrifices he had made over the centuries. Now he must ask another soul to take his place.

“I am old, Michael, that is all. But my health is not your concern now. There are others who need your help.”

Michael frowned. He rocked back on his haunches, studying the old priest. “Why do they need me? I’m only a doctor – surely you would serve them better.”

“Perhaps, but I am weak and cannot travel. These folk will not be coming here. You must go to them.”

He described the path Michael must take to the inn. As he spoke the doctor watched him with his amber eyes. Behind them Elynbrigge could sense the courage Michael had hid beneath the years of prayer and study. This man would not falter when he looked in the face of evil. His old friend would need such a man. 

“Why do these people need me? Who are they?”

Your doom,
Elynbrigge thought. He could not say it though. But he could at least offer a choice. “They are the ones who brought the girl to us. They will need a doctor before the night is done, and they will not be staying in Chole much longer. If you go to them, you must leave with them.”

“Why?”

“If you return here their enemies will seek you out. They will take you and torture you until they break you. And they will burn this temple to the ground.”

Michael’s expression did not change, but Elynbrigge could taste his anger on the air. He had offered an impossible choice. To follow his calling and aid those in need, he would have to give up everything he knew and loved.

Time was trickling away, though and death was fast approaching. He gave Michael a final push. “You should know, these people are servants of Antonia. And I believe if you go to them, you will meet her.”

Michael exhaled sharply. “The Goddess herself?”

Elynbrigge almost wished he could take back the words. Who would turn up the opportunity to meet the Goddess, face to face? Instead, he only nodded.

Michael smiled. Elynbrigge felt the joy flooding Michael’s soul. It made him sick to his stomach. “I would give my life to serve the Goddess. I will go to them.”

You might yet
, Elynbrigge thought. “Then go to them, there is no time to spare. Good luck, my friend. May Antonia watch over you.”

Michael fled the room. The old priest gatherer his thoughts and sent a prayer for Michael’s soul. If he survived this quest, he would be a priest no longer. The darkness would change him forever. He was strong though and the challenge would only make him stronger.

It did not take long for his second visitor to arrive. The dark cloaked man stepped into the room, sword in hand. Elynbrigge sat up, preparing himself for this final confrontation.

“Elynbrigge, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” the voice was soft, mocking. “I’ve heard so much about you, though I am afraid you don’t seem to live up to the stories. Age does not become you.”

“Time claims all of us.”

The man laughed. “Not me, nor my master. The dark arts offer all manner of riches. When he comes, I will live forever.”

“And yet you do not live at all. What is left of the man you once were? Where is your soul? What is immortality without joy?” Elynbrigge’s voice was touched with sadness.

“It is immortality. I would not expect
you
to understand,” he waved a hand. “Now, do you have any final words? I have other matters to attend too.”

Elynbrigge sighed. “There is no need to kill me. I will play no part in this fight. I am an old man now, my days of power long past. My only desire now is to spend my final years healing the sick. Will you not give me that?”

His visitor cackled. “You are the only mortal left who remembers the birth of the God’s. That alone is a death sentence. And I will take no chances in this game. The last shackles of the past fall tonight and neither you nor Alastair will be here to see the dawn of the new age.”

“Alastair will not die so easily,” at this moment he knew how false those words were. His old friend had nothing left to give. “And I would rather die than see your new age.”

“Death I can grant you,” the man raised his hands.

Elynbrigge stared into the man’s dead eyes and let the void claim him.

******************

Alastair’s breathing was growing shallower with each gasp. Rain had soaked through his clothes and he was starting to shake. He needed shelter, and help, fast.

Eric looked up at Caelin. “We need to get him to back to the inn, now.”

Caelin crouched opposite him. “I’ll carry him,” he wrapped his arms around Alastair and lifted him from the muddy stone. The old man seemed to have shrunk, as though the magic had drained away muscle and bone, leaving only a skeletal husk in his place. Caelin hauled him over his shoulders and marched for the stairs.

Eric ducked past him and took the lead. He glanced back, checking to see how the young sergeant was coping with his burden, but Caelin showed no signs of weakness. His stride was firm and confident, as though he carried nothing but air. They reached the staircase and started down. This time Eric scarcely noticed the height, his mind preoccupied on Alastair’s fate.

The rain had begun to clear. Wind gusted around them, but it grew weaker as they walked. The flashes of lightning now came from far away, the thunder a distance rumble. The storm was finally ending, leaving silence in its wake. Loose stones clattered on the staircase, dislodged by their passage. Eric continued down, Caelin a step behind him.

Eric did not hesitate when they reached the ground. There was no time to waste. Alastair’s head bounced with each step Caelin took, his wispy grey hair hanging across his pale face.

The rain had ceased, but its smell lingered in the air. The shadows cast by the buildings closed in around them. The clouds still hid the moon and stars, leaving only a sparse scattering of street lanterns to light the way. Eric let Caelin take the lead. Even in daylight he could not have navigated the jumbled streets.

The young soldier led them through the night. Eric glanced into the shadows, breath coming in short gasps. He had not forgotten Archon’s men, nor the underworld who ruled the night here in Chole. The image of the murdered couple was fresh in his head. The stench of blood came with it, so convincing he paused to search for its source. But it was just a memory, a nightmare. He moved on.

His eyes slid through the dark surrounding them. Anything could be hiding in the gloom. He searched for movement, strained to catch the faintest sound. He shivered. There was nothing. He hurried after Caelin.

Finally, they came to a crossroads Eric recognised. A single lantern hung on the corner, a frail beacon lighting the way. They were close, only a few blocks from the inn. Thankfully, as Caelin was lagging now beneath his burden. His breath came in ragged bursts, steaming in the cool night air. He would not make it much further.

Eric’s ears caught the slight rustle of clothing from behind them. He spun, glimpsing the sheen of light on steel. A blade hurtled at him from the shadows. He dived aside, but not fast enough. The dagger tore through his clothes and plunged into his side. He struck the ground, white fire dancing across his vision.

Caelin dropped Alastair and leapt across Eric. His sword hissed from its sheath, a dagger appearing in his other hand. The soldier placed himself between the shadows and his fallen comrades, crouched in anticipation. His movements were smooth and practiced, his face unreadable.

Eric groaned, agony lancing from his side. He glanced down and saw the daggers hilt still buried in his flesh. Hot blood ran down his leg. He tried to move and winced as the cool steel cut further. Lying back, he saw three men emerging into the light. Their dark clothing clung to the shadows at their back. Big, muscular men, they held greatswords at the ready. They towered over Caelin. Eric prayed his ally’s skill was enough to take them.

The men spread out as they approached, attempting to encircle their prey. They moved quickly, eager to end the last opposition standing between them and their reward. Once surrounded, Caelin would have no way of defending against all three of them. The fight would be over before it began.

But Caelin was no fool. He didn’t wait for the snare to close. He sprang at the man to his left, sword snaking out. His enemy made a clumsy jab to turn aside the blow, surprise written on his meaty face. Caelin drew back his blade and attacked again. The man blocked, but there was no avoiding the dagger. Caelin buried it in his stomach and tore it loose.

Caelin bounded backwards, bringing his sword to the ready. The wounded man staggered a few paces after him and pitched face first to the ground. He groaned, fingers clawing at the hole in his stomach. A dark puddle began to form around him.

Caelin grinned at the remaining thugs, beckoning them forward. They drew closer together; approaching warily now, fear making them hesitate. Caelin stood frozen in place, sword raised high in his right hand, bloody dagger low in his left. He stood like a statue, daring his opponents to break him.

The night rang with the clash of steel. These men were no novices and the death of their comrade did not move them. Their swords buzzed like wasps, stingers seeking out flesh. It was not enough. Wherever they struck, Caelin’s blades were there to meet them.

For a while the young soldier seemed untouchable. Then Caelin grunted and staggered backwards, and Eric saw a trail of blood streaming from a cut across his forehead, dripping in his eyes. His foes closed on him, swords poised to strike.

The first man drew ahead, crossing the others path. His sword lanced for Caelin’s throat. Caelin straightened to brush the blow aside. The man came on, intent on the kill. He grasped his greatsword in both hands and swung it at his Caelin’s head.

Sparks flew as their blades met. Caelin stepped back, bending beneath the force of the two handed blow. The thug swung again and again, forcing him back. He gasped for air, fighting for the strength to brave the onslaught. The second man struggled to join the fight, but Caelin was retreating too fast.

Suddenly, the two-handed attacker froze, sword raised above his head. Then he toppled backwards, his comrade leaping from his path. Eric’s eyes widened as he saw Caelin’s dagger buried in the man’s throat.

Caelin strode over the corpse, his face grim. He held only his sword, its tip streaked with blood. The final man backed away, dropping his blade in surrender. Caelin continued towards him until the man fled.

He turned to Eric, exhaustion washing across his face. He smiled anyway. “Are you telling me I have to carry
both
of you now?”

Eric would have laughed, if it weren’t for the pain. He felt dizzy and could not seem to get enough air. His stomach roiled. They were lucky the inn was not far. Gritting his teeth, he reached down to grasp the hilt of the dagger.

“I’d leave that, if I were you. You’ll do more damage if you pull it out. And you’d likely bleed to death before we got two blocks. Best leave it for a professional.”

“What do we do?”

“We get to the inn. When we’re safe, I’ll send for someone. Then we go after the girl.”

******************

The cloaked man watched from the shadows. The men’s failure angered him, but he was not surprised at the outcome. They were a probe, a test of their strength before he revealed his hand. Now two were wounded, the third exhausted. He could hardly contain his glee. He crept closer. These three he could finish himself. He imagined the pleasure it would bring to drive his blade through Alastair’s damned heart.

“Then we go after the girl,” the soldier said.

He froze. What had they discovered? Had Enala emerged from hiding? If so, it would not take long to track her down himself. Yet, his master would not be forgiving if she slipped through his fingers a second time.

He retreated into the shadows and slipped away. If he beat them back to the inn, he could delay the ambush for an hour. He needed time to listen for what they knew about the girl.

Then he would wipe the field clean.

******************

Eric groaned as Caelin kicked his way through the inn’s double doors. A wave of warm air spilled over them and every eye in the dining room turned to stare. Caelin stumbled inside; Eric slung over one shoulder, Alastair the other. His body shook beneath their weight, overwhelmed by the cold and exhaustion.

A voice called from the back of the busy room. “Are you okay?”

“A doctor,” Caelin croaked, sinking to the floor.